The latest Political Ritual album is quite a peculiar experience born
out of mourning, substance abuse, geopolitical concerns, long-distance relationships and friendly
rituals — actually the album’s only real common denominator, along with a new set-up comprising
deformed keyboard keys and hazy effects. Sometimes the need to let go of one’s rhythmic needs
arises — at the expense of a cracked cello or a broken organ. Sometimes a wedding harmonium bought
from an old, hungry man in an Indian village improvises modal lines. In the end, all echoes are
real because this record is also a dream from a hastily recorded and already fading away era — at
times drenched in the instinctive automatism galvanized by the requirements of plastic.

Here are two twenty minute-long pieces: improvised sound rituals successively sculpted by the
magic of matrix polarization. If you are looking for meaning, read Nietzsche or Cioran, but do not expect any claim from us. The
only thing that matters is to crank up the volume and join the ritual we have concocted thinking of
you, and especially of us. The plastic and the oil are in front of you, the stylus is wearing out,
as it is, perhaps, a little bit of absolute.